


Christmas Time is About Loving You

by wingsdestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Christmas in the Bunker, Falling Castiel, Fluff, Holiday Fic Exchange, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 07:17:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5488484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingsdestiel/pseuds/wingsdestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel wants to fully experience the holiday season, Dean has a realization, and feelings happen. </p><p>Takes place sometime after 10x18, in an AU where there's no MOC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Time is About Loving You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MercuryStardust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryStardust/gifts).



“What do you mean, you’re ‘staying here’?” Dean glares at Sam from the doorway.

“I mean I’m staying here,” Sam says. “I think I’m coming down with something.”

Sam’s tucked himself into bed, even though they were supposed to go into town tonight for the stupid holiday street fair, because Cas wants to ‘experience things.’ Dean narrows his eyes. “I’ve seen you fight off vamps with a broken arm. You’re telling me you’re too sick to go out and take a stroll?”

“It’s freezing out there. Don’t want to get sicker.”

“Look, man, I know this thing sounds awful, but Cas has been wanting to go ever since he heard about it, so we can’t really bail on him now.”

“I know,” Sam says, doing that annoying face he does when he thinks Dean’s being oblivious. “So you two should go. Bring me back some peppermint bark.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Fine. But next time Cas wants to do something stupid, you’re taking him.”

“Have fun,” Sam says, smirking.

“Yeah, whatever. Hope your imaginary illness goes away,” Dean says, closing Sam’s door on his way out.

He’s not _completely_ obtuse. He knows Sam has been trying to get him and Cas to do stuff by themselves more. He just doesn’t want to think too hard about why.

In the hallway, he nearly runs into Cas, who’s wearing slightly-too-big jeans and a ridiculously hideous Christmas sweater. Between seeing Cas in something other than his trench coat, and seeing Cas in something a suburban grandmother would probably wear, Dean has to blink a few times to let his eyes adjust.

“Are you ready to go? Where’s Sam?” Cas says, his tone of voice almost comically serious considering his current wardrobe choices.

“Sam’s bailing on us. He’s pretending to be sick.”

Cas frowns. “Maybe he’s actually sick, Dean.”

“He just knows how lame this thing is gonna be.”

Cas sighs. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“No, Cas, it’s alright. You’ve been looking forward to it. I mean, look at you, you’re all… festive.”

“Yes, I got this at the Goodwill in Hastings. They have very affordable clothing.”

Dean feels the sudden urge to tell Cas that he can take him someplace a little nicer to buy some clothes, if he wants to wear something else every once in a while. But that wouldn’t really be practical. Dean, after all, gets most of his clothes secondhand as well; no point in spending big bucks on clothes that are just gonna get blood and monster guts on them anyway. He only has one pair of jeans that he doesn’t wear on hunts, and they’ve lasted him five years so far. So if Cas doesn’t mind being thrifty, that’s just fine. He still wears his old suit and trench coat most of the time anyway (whether it’s out of respect for Jimmy or just habit, Dean doesn’t ask). Although, Dean realizes, Cas has been wearing other clothes more and more frequently. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to take the guy to a Nordstrom Rack or something, at least…

“Dean?” Cas says, and Dean realizes he’s probably been staring at him. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah. Uh, let me get my coat. And you should probably wear another jacket on top of that, too. It’s below thirty out there.”

“I can regulate the temperature of my vessel, Dean. The cold won’t be a problem for me.” Cas says it with a bit of a smirk.

Dean figures Cas is probably amused by having to constantly remind him that he’s an angel. Which, yeah, it’s kind of ridiculous. But it’s not like he’s _forgetting_ , exactly. It’s just that Cas acts so human sometimes.

Once Dean has his coat on, he says, “Let’s roll,” and starts making his way to the garage, Cas following shortly behind him.

“I really appreciate you coming with me,” Cas says. “I could go on my own, but it wouldn’t be as fun.”

“Sure, man. I mean, I don’t really get why you’re so into it – it’s just gonna be a bunch of rednecks selling overpriced Christmas shit.” He opens the door to the garage and lets Cas go ahead of him. “But you dragged me outta hell, so I guess I can drag myself to this.”

Cas turns around to look at him. “I just want to experience Christmas the way humans experience it. And I think part of that means enjoying the festivities with loved ones.”

Dean can feel himself blushing furiously, and gives a weak little nod of understanding. He then turns his attention to the Impala. “Sorry, Baby,” Dean says to her as he unlocks the driver’s side door, “We’re going out in the snow.”

***

When they arrive in downtown Lebanon (if it can even be called “downtown”), everything looks just as Dean pictured it would. There’s a block’s length of stands and booths set up, most with tarp canopies set up over them to keep out the lightly falling snow. People are strolling up and down the block, lining up in front of popular stands, and off to the side, a group of little kids are throwing snowballs at each other. The local businesses have strings of Christmas lights outlining their windows, and Bing Crosby’s recording of “Walking in a Winter Wonderland” is blasting from an actual _boombox_ , the kind Dean had when he was fourteen. It feels like they’ve stepped back in time, and Dean catches himself thinking that it’s sort of romantic, in a way.

“This is nice,” Cas says, completely monotone, and Dean chuckles.

They start making their way down the block. Dean keeps his hands in his coat pockets and avoids eye contact with the townspeople, while Cas receives numerous compliments on his catastrophe of a Christmas sweater and seems intent on engaging every vendor in conversation about whatever they’re selling. He admires some tacky homemade ornaments, asks about cookie decorating techniques, and even tries some hot chocolate – he’s been trying more food and drink recently, so Dean suspects it doesn’t taste so much like molecules to him anymore.

“Let me know if you see any peppermint bark,” Dean says. “We’re supposed to get some for Sam.”

“Okay. I think I would like to try some, too. I like peppermint candy, and I would imagine that it’s similar.”

“Yeah, it has peppermint candy crushed up on top. You like peppermint candy?”

“They had them as mints at a diner a few months ago, so I tried one, and I liked it. I always take a few when I can find them.”

Dean is unsettled by the thought of Cas having this previously undisclosed habit, the thought of him having a like or a dislike that he didn’t know about. And it hits him then that he wants to have Cas memorized. He wants to collect all the peppermint candies in the world and give them to Cas so he never has to take them out of a bowl by the cash register in a seedy diner ever again. And he’s starting to piece together what that means.

But he can’t make a scene here, because they’re in a rural town in the Midwest, and even though he’s never wanted to kiss a man (well, a wavelength of celestial intent in a male form) so badly in his life, he knows that these people are probably not into that sort of thing, and _definitely_ have guns, and he doesn’t feel like getting into any shootouts tonight.

So he just follows Cas around the festival, a strange, pleasant feeling bubbling up inside his chest. He buys Sam his peppermint bark, and buys some for Cas too, and smiles when Cas says something about peppermint bark being one of humanity’s greatest achievements. He doesn’t even complain when Cas asks for money to buy various things he doesn’t need, or when he has to scrape the snow off of Baby’s windshield before they head out.

On the drive home, Dean cranks the heat up all the way, and looks over at Cas, who is wrapped up in his new red and green striped scarf and already halfway through a bag of peppermint bark, looking perfectly content. 

“I’m glad you like that thing, even if you don’t need it,” Dean says about the scarf.

“Thank you for buying it for me,” Cas says with a small smile, but there’s something else underneath. 

“Wait. You got _cold_ , didn’t you?”

Cas shrugs and avoids eye contact.

This would be funny, Dean realizes, if it were like the time when he told Sam to pack lots of layers for a hunt in Maine in the dead of winter, and Sam ended up freezing his ass off because he’d only packed his regular jacket. But this isn’t like that. This is Cas, who is supposed to be all powered up and completely self-sufficient at temperature regulation.

“Your thermostat busted, Cas?”

“I don’t know,” he says quietly.

“I mean, you’ve been eating. And don’t get me wrong – I’m glad you can taste food. But that’s not really supposed to happen, right?”

“No,” Cas admits. “But I _feel_ okay. I just get cold sometimes, or hot. And sometimes food looks and smells good to me.”

“Anything else I should know about?”

Cas hesitates. “There may be occasional… sleeping… happening.”

So Cas is falling all over again, in whatever bizarre, gradual way it’s happening now. And Dean hates himself for the thought he has next, that if Cas becomes human again, he can’t just fly off. He can’t decide that he’d rather be in heaven. He’ll _stay._ But being pleased at the thought of Cas’s autonomy being taken away like that makes Dean a monster. He knows that.

“Let me know if anything changes,” Dean says. “This sounds like bad news.”

“I don’t know that there’s much we can do about it,” says Cas. “That’s why I didn’t tell you before. And if I am falling, then at least this time it’s not entirely against my will.”

“What are you talking about? You just got your grace back!”

“I know. But now I realize that it wasn’t necessarily about getting my grace back, per se.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Are you gonna tell me it was about honor?”

To his surprise, Cas responds with a small smile. “In a way, it was. My grace, the very essence of me, had been taken away from me without my consent, and had the potential to be used for unsavory things – ”

“By creation’s biggest douche,” Dean adds.

“ – so of course I had to get it back. If it fades away now, or becomes something else, then that’s all right with me. I’m at peace with it.”

“So you’re not gonna die?”

Cas shrugs, as if it’s not a literal life or death question. “I don’t feel the way I felt when I was running on borrowed grace, if that’s what you’re asking. I just feel like I’m becoming more human.”

“And you’re really okay with that?”

“It’s not ideal. I’m not sure what I’ll do with myself.”

“Regular human stuff,” Dean offers.

“Like what?”

“I dunno. Chess? You’d probably be scary good at chess. Or you could read more books. You love books.”

Cas sighs and leans back in his seat. “Maybe I should travel. I’ve seen everything, but not as a human. And humans travel specifically to try food, don’t they?”

“You’re just gonna… go all by yourself?”

Cas turns to look at him. “Do you want to come?”

Dean clears his throat, like that’ll erase how pathetic he just sounded a moment ago. “I’d feel better about it. You know, just in case. There are always psychos out there.”

“Okay,” Cas says. “You can come.”

Just like that. No arguing, no _I can take care of myself_. Just _okay_. Dean can’t believe the night he’s having.

“But you do realize,” Cas says, “that you’d have to get on airplanes.”

Dean’s palms get a little sweaty just from the word. But he’s also oddly pleased that Cas remembers his phobia. “There are other ways to travel,” he points out. “Better ways.”

Cas chuckles. “We can talk about it, I suppose.”

Have they always sounded like this? Like a couple? Dean can’t be sure, because everything feels different. Every word spoken and every glance shared between them is shaped a little differently, takes up more space in the air, now that Dean can see the potential they hold.

*** 

On Christmas morning, Dean waits at the kitchen table for Cas to emerge from his room.

Cas has been sleeping more and more now, among other human things, but otherwise he seems fine. Dean still isn’t ready to let himself feel relieved yet. He always checks to make sure Cas is still breathing when he finds him passed out in a chair in the library or sitting up in bed, an open book laying on his chest or held loosely in one hand. Cas seems convinced that if these changes were really life threatening, he would have felt unwell by now. All logic aside, Dean spends a lot of time worrying, and hovering, and making Cas drink more water than is probably necessary.

Sam has recently left for his morning jog (“Really, Sammy? Even on Christmas?”), so Dean just sits there alone and drinks his coffee, staring at his Christmas present for Cas. He’d gone back and forth so many times on whether or not to wrap it, and whether or not he should buy actual wrapping paper for that. In the end, he’d decided that it was not exciting enough of a gift to warrant actual wrapping paper, but the Winchester method of wrapping with newspaper seemed appropriate.

Nine o’clock comes and goes, and Dean feels the familiar anxiety start to prickle. But soon he hears movement coming from the general direction of Cas’ room, and then shuffling footsteps.

Cas appears in the kitchen doorway, wearing one of Dean’s old shirts that he’d given him to sleep in, and a pair of sweatpants. His hair is all messed up, and he squints in the light. “G’morning,” he mumbles.

“Morning. Merry Christmas,” Dean says.

“Merry Christmas,” Cas replies with a smile, and sits down across from him. He glances at the newspaper-wrapped package, but doesn’t say anything about it.

“You hungry? I can make us something.”

“Hot chocolate?”

Dean shakes his head in amusement. “That’s not exactly food, but you got it.” He gets up and starts getting the ingredients out. “That’s for you, by the way,” he adds as casually as he can, pointing to the package. “For Christmas.”

“What is it?”

“You, uh… have to open it. That’s part of the fun. See, I wrapped it in newspaper, because that’s what Sam and I usually do. But if we were normal, it would be all colorful, and have a bow on it.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says. He sounds genuinely moved. “I’m honored to be a part of your family tradition.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, well, I do what I can. Just open it, you big sap.”

Cas’s frown in reaction to being called a sap is, of course, nothing but endearing, and Dean is reminded once again of just how far _gone_ he is for this ridiculous mostly-angel. He keeps half an eye on Cas, and continues making their hot chocolate.

Cas slides the package towards him, tears away the newspaper, and looks down at the three-pound bag of peppermint candies. “Dean,” he says, and looks back and forth between him and the bag a few times. “There are so many,” he adds. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing, Cas. I can get ’em at the store for you whenever you want. I just wanted you to have something to open.”

Cas gets up. Dean’s heart hammers in his chest, and he swears that time slows down exponentially with every step Cas takes towards him. Finally they’re hugging, like they haven’t hugged in a long time, and Dean doesn’t force himself to pull away like he normally does. And he’s afraid that Cas will pull away, but he doesn’t.

Part of him wants to remind Cas that it’s just a bag of candy. That he grabbed it off a shelf in a convenience store and paid less than five bucks for it. He wants to make a joke about how ever since he started falling again, Cas has been all mushy. But it feels too good to hold Cas like this, to see him safe and acting stupidly grateful over a bag of peppermints.

The fact that Cas is still enthusiastically hugging him has Dean feeling even more bold, so he presses a kiss to Cas’s temple. Cas pulls back with a surprised, but not displeased, expression, and pulls Dean's hands into his own. “I don’t have anything for you,” he says.

“It’s okay. I’ve had a lot of Christmases. This is kinda your first one. Or the first one you’re actually experiencing.”

“What else are we going to do?”

“We can watch some holiday classics. You need to see _Die Hard_.” 

***

A few hours later, the three of them are all in Dean’s room, halfway through their second movie. Sam is sitting in an armchair he dragged into the room, sipping on a mug of eggnog. Dean and Cas are sitting up on Dean’s bed, leaning back against the headboard. Cas is wearing his dumb Christmas sweater again.

Dean’s arm is draped around Cas’s shoulders (and if Sam has noticed, he hasn’t said anything). Dean’s bedspread is littered with the cellophane wrappers of peppermint candies.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "The Christmas Ballad" by Nataly Dawn.


End file.
